


The Sixth Year

by Amuly



Series: Gwil's Guide to Growing Up Torchwood [7]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seven-year-old boy falls through the Rift, Ianto and Jack decide to adopt him. This is the story of his life at Torchwood.<b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil gets his first Torchwood job in the archives; Gwil finds something in there that makes him need to talk to his dad.

“Five days.”

Ianto arched an eyebrow over at Gwil – less and less _down_ at Gwil and more _over_ at him every day, as he now reached Ianto's and Jack's chests. Ianto was endlessly fascinated by how quickly Gwil was growing. He supposed he himself must have gone through the process at some point, but it had seemed so much more gradual back then – more painstaking, actually, rather than the way Gwil was practically skipping over whole centimeters in a night. 

“Two days,” Ianto counter-offered.

Gwil frowned, glancing around the archive. He bit his lip as he considered, and Ianto waited patiently. He and Jack had already agreed on three days a week. It had been Jack who suggested Ianto let Gwil feel like he managed to set the terms of their new arrangement.

“Three,” Gwil countered. “And one of them'll be a weekend day every week. So then you _know_ it won't interfere with my school work.”

Ianto pretended to consider this for a long moment, frowning and drawing his brows together and placing his hand on his chin. Finally he nodded curtly. “Deal.” He stuck out his hand to Gwil, who beamed as he grasped it in his own. 

“So can I start today, then? Right now? I can help sort something, or alphabetize something! Do you need me to file stuff, like reports?”

Ignoring the cold shudder sliding its way down his spine, Ianto smiled tightly at Gwil. “First,” he cautioned, “will be a lesson on what you cannot touch. _Ever_.”

Gwil rolled his eyes, deflating somewhat. “I  _know_ ,” he groaned. “Yellow through red, I'm dead. Blue, come and get you. Green's fine.” A smug smirk tugged at the corners of Gwil's mouth. “Rhyme kind of fell apart at the end there.”

Grabbing Gwil by the elbow and steering him toward the most recent archives, Ianto smirked right back. “You can thank your dad for that. If it was me, it would have been in meter.”

**

Gwil stared out over the large room of files and shelves despondently. “So this is  _it_ ? These are the  _only_ archives I can do stuff in?”

Ianto nodded. “Yup. Just starting with the new millenia. The other stuff I haven't gotten the chance to go through as carefully.” He pressed his palms down toward the ground, fingers splayed out, as he spoke. “Everything in this room I know is labeled properly. And this room only.”

What Ianto said was only a half-truth. It was true that everything was labeled properly starting from the last millenia. But in reality, he had already had the chance to check over the vast majority of the twentieth century as well, in the process of coordinating an archive overhaul with the different Torchwood branches around the world. The real reason he didn't want Gwil going back further in time was because he hadn't altered Jack's records yet. Some small part of him was hoping that he wouldn't  _have_ to alter Jack's records: that Jack would tell Gwil about his immortality before they got to that point. Another part of Ianto thought that day wouldn't come until Gwil saw Jack revive himself, and the revelation was forced out of Jack.

Gwil was already walking through the shelves, peering at the green-labeled items, flickering through some of the files with his fingertips. “But I'll get to handle all the incoming stuff, right? I mean, after you approve it.”

“Yup.” Ianto strolled after Gwil, not _too_ nervous about anything terrible happening. Gwil was smart, and for all his eagerness, _careful_. He knew better than to grab a red-labeled item off a shelf and start wielding it. Goodness knew he had seen enough things go horribly wrong to never be reckless. Still... Ianto held his breath as Gwil peered curiously at a blue-labeled box, before walking away without touching it. Ianto exhaled. Still, there was no telling what went through a twelve-year-old's mind. Ianto wasn't so old that he couldn't remember the feeling of invincibility that age brought with it.

“ _How are my men doing? Done yet?”_

Ianto smiled as he pressed a hand to his ear, activating his comm. Gwil just rolled his eyes and stalked off behind another row of shelves, eyes rapidly scanning their contents. “Just about. Why? Anything pressing?”

“ _If you consider my stomach growling pressing, then yes. Very. And I was hoping we could go out and celebrate Gwil's first job! Get lunch somewhere nice.”_

“Meat pies? And chips?” Gwil's voice reached Ianto simultaneously over the comms and from three rows of shelving away.

“I think you're both conspiring to get me off active field duty,” Ianto pondered as he glanced down at his stomach. “Between Jack letting me coordinate the archives and Gwil insisting on the fattiest foods every time he gets to pick...”

“Hey!” Gwil's head popped out from a row of shelves four rows back from Ianto. “I _could_ have asked for ice cream and candy. At least you could get a veggie pie.”

Ianto smirked wryly as Gwil walked over to him. “Of course. How could I forget the nutritious benefits of fried vegetables and cheese wrapped in dough?”

Gwil laughed and lightly punched at Ianto's arm. “It's my first day at Torchwood! Don't spoil it!”

As they walked out of the archives together Ianto grimaced. First day working at Torchwood, and only twelve years old. It was a good thing there was no data on life expectancy for an agent starting so young.

**

“Gwil, did you find that file I needed? The one on the Slitheen? It _should_ be in the last decade.” Ianto paused for a moment as Jack nodded vigorously and gave him a thumbs up from his office. Ianto turned back to his computer screen, one hand to his ear. “Dad says it should be there.”

For a moment there was silence on Gwil's end of the line, making Ianto's gut churn with worry. Gwil was good at scouring the archives – Ianto knew that. And he was  _careful_ : there hadn't been a single incident in the two months he had been working down there. Not a dropped file, not an accidentally opened red-labeled item, not even a misfile. All in all, Gwil had probably had the most auspicious first two months out of  _any_ of the current employees.

He certainly was doing better than Gwen had  _her_ first couple months. Ianto suppressed a smug grin.

But still, he worried. Every time the line went silent for too long, like it was now, a thousand –  _completely_ _possible_ – scenarios raced through Ianto's head. 

Finally Gwil's voice came on the comms, and Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. Then he immediately regretted feeling that way.“I wanna talk to Dad.”

Ianto tensed up, hand pressing painfully hard at the comm in his ear.

“Are you hurt? Do I need to get Uncle Owen?”

“No.” Gwil's voice was quick to reassure him, but no less quiet, no less upset. Then he repeated himself. “I wanna talk to Dad.”

“Alright, alright.” Ianto was rushing over to Jack's desk even as he fought to remain calm. “Here he is. Do you want him to come down to you?”

Jack's head snapped up, concern flitting across his face. Ianto could only bite his lip and shake his head helplessly in worry.

“Yeah,” Gwil replied. “I'm in my section. I just need to ask him about something.”

Dropping his hand from his ear, Ianto looked significantly at Jack. “He wants to ask you about something. He's down in the twenty-first century archives.” For a moment a ghost of a grin flickered across Ianto's face. “Do you know where that is?”

Jack huffed as he pushed himself up from his chair. “Well, everything's so nicely labeled down there now, thanks to you, that I could find it even if I didn't! Which I do.” A moment later his face dropped, expression turning sour. “What do you suppose it is?”

Ianto sighed, running a hand through his hair. “There shouldn't be any references to your... abilities. Not in that section. Maybe something about the Doctor?” Ianto's frown deepened. Gwil had started to display an unhealthy interest in Jack's tales of the strange man that had almost swept him away from his parents two years ago. 

Jack shrugged as he started to push past Ianto. “We'll see. I'll leave my-” he tapped his ear twice before giving Ianto a thumb's up. Ianto nodded. Jack was keeping his comm open: so if Gwil took his out, Ianto would still be able to hear Gwil's half of the conversation.

It turned out the precaution was necessary, because when Jack reached the archives Gwil was in a few minutes later, Ianto could only hear Gwil's voice through Jack's earpiece. It was a little distorted, somewhat akin to someone speaking in a tunnel, but it was audible enough. 

“So champ! What's up?”

Ianto settled into Jack's chair to listen in.

There was some rustling on the line – Ianto assumed it was Gwil passing a file over to Jack. “I was doing research and I found it.” Gwil's voice, distorted as it was, still sounded distinctly sad. And not a little bit confused.

Over the comms Ianto could hear Jack draw in a breath, but before he could say something to inform Ianto as to whatever he was looking at, Gwil spoke up again.

“I just wanted to find more stories about the Doctor. The closest thing – besides all the stuff about me, 'course – was the time you fought the Daleks with him. After I read that I wanted more, so I looked at older stuff. I read about the time you left, and the Master, and all that.” For a moment Ianto thought Gwil was going to ask Jack why he had left, _how_ could he have left. But no, Gwil hurried on past that. It made sense, Ianto supposed: Gwil had grown up with running off to handle Torchwood stuff as a part of his everyday life. And he had no reason to doubt that his dads would come back every time. “Then I looked back more, and I saw all the stuff with the Cybermen at Torchwood One. And I thought that'd be it, but there was a note at the end of it.”

Ianto sucked in a breath, mirroring the one Jack had earlier.  _Oh_ . Tears pricked at his eyes.  _Oh_ . Of course Gwil had wanted to talk to Jack and not Ianto. How was he supposed to explain that?

“And the note said something about there being a surviving Cybermen file or something somewhere else. And it was in this room, so I looked for it.”

Jack's voice was so kind, Ianto wanted to embrace him for it. “What do you want to know?”

“What- I-” Gwil started then stopped, falling silent. Ianto's breaths synced with Jack's as both men waited, hundreds of meters away from each other but completely together in that moment. “I just... wanted to hear about it. From you. I know what the report says, but-” Ianto could hear the tremor in Gwil's voice. “I don't know, Dad. I don't know what- I feel angry. At you. And at Tad. But then I feel really sad. And I just... can you tell me about it?”

“Sure.” There was the sound of fabric rustling. Instinctively Ianto knew that Jack had tugged Gwil into his lap, even though the gangly boy was getting too big for that. He also knew without seeing that Gwil had gone without protest. “Lisa was your tad's girlfriend, a long time before we met. Tad was working at Torchwood One, and I was working here, and we didn't know each other. You understand that part, right? That Tad loved Lisa first, and then he loved me?”

“Yeah.” Gwil's voice was soft. “It's like how I loved Tad and you first, and then the Aunts and Uncles after that. Or how Uncle Owen had other girls, but now he has Aunt Tosh and he loves her.”

“Right.” Jack's voice was soothing, like he was telling a bedtime story about his childhood in Boeshane, rather than a story about one of the worst crimes Ianto had ever committed. “So your tad loved Miss Lisa. But then the Cybermen attacked Torchwood One, and Miss Lisa got hurt. They partially converted her. Did you understand that part?”

“Yeah,” Gwil whispered. “It's scary.”

“It was,” Jack agreed. “But your tad did something very brave. Even though the Cybermen were scary, he survived, and he rescued Miss Lisa from them. He didn't realize that they had already started to convert her – that she was already sick. He made a mistake because he loved her very, very much.”

A tear dripped down Ianto's nose, and he batted at it. He couldn't start crying over this. Not in the middle of the Hub. Ianto pressed his palms to his eyes, resting his elbows on Jack's desk as he let Jack's voice wash over him. 

“Then he came to work for me, here. He hid Miss Lisa in the basement. He tried to save her. Because that's what your tad does-”

“-he saves people,” Gwil finished for him. His voice was softly admiring. More tears pressed at Ianto's eyelids at his tone. “He was just trying to help Miss Lisa,” Gwil repeated.

“That's right. And when I found out, I realized he couldn't. And your tad did, too. Eventually.” The last word was muttered under Jack's breath, and Ianto choked back a laugh. Bastard.

“But you killed her. And Aunt Gwen and Aunt Tosh and Uncle Owen. You killed Miss Lisa.”

“It wasn't Miss Lisa anymore.” At Jack's desk, Ianto nodded in agreement. He knew that now, he really did – sometimes it just hurt to be reminded of it. Even still. Jack continued: “She was infected by the Cybermen. She was a Cyberman now, not Miss Lisa. Miss Lisa had been dead for months, by then it was just the Cybermen using her body to walk around and talk. But it wasn't Miss Lisa anymore.”

“I get it,” Gwil said. Of course he did, Ianto thought with a wry twist of his lips. Gwil had been present at enough alien possessions in his time. 

“In a way,” Jack mused, “it's thanks to Miss Lisa that your tad and I met. If the Cybermen hadn't attacked, if your tad hadn't have tried to save Miss Lisa by sneaking her in here, he would have never come to me for a job. And we would never have met.”

“So it was all good in the end?” Gwil pondered. Ianto had pondered the same question himself dozens, if not hundreds of times since joining Torchwood Three.

“Yeah,” Jack said, and Ianto could hear his voice muffled in Gwil's hair. “Yeah. It all turned out for the best. Because now Tad and I have each other. And we have you.”

“I'm glad, then.” Ianto shook his head, marveling at Gwil's resiliency as his son spoke up, sure and happy in his conclusion. “Because you and Tad belong together. So it all worked out for the best.”

Leaning back in Jack's chair, Ianto ran shaking hands through his hair. He supposed, somehow, Gwil was right. It had.  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Tosh and Uncle Owen get married; Gwil frets over Braith.

Gwil fidgeted with Braith's dress, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. “No, Braith. Stop tugging at it. You're messing it up.”

“It's _itchy_!” Big green eyes peered up at Gwil pleadingly from beneath a mop of straight, chestnut brown hair. 

“It's just crinoline,” he mumbled under his breath. Louder, he reassured Braith. “It's only going to be for a couple minutes, okay? We're going to walk down the aisle, Auntie Tosh and Uncle Owen will saw gooey sappy stuff about how much they love each other, they'll kiss, and then you can have your mam change you out of the dress.”

Braith giggled and swung her flower basket around as she gazed up at Gwil. “Kiss?”

Crouching down so that he was eye-level with Braith, Gwil nodded very seriously. “Yup. Kiss. Like this.” Gwil proceeded to press smacking kisses all over Braith's face, causing her to giggle uncontrollably and shy away from her big cousin, all complaints about her dress forgotten. 

Then the music started, and Gwil straightened up and smoothed down his suit, before checking over Braith's own outfit one last time. He tugged at the bow wrapped around the center, making sure the wide, lavender strip of silk was straight. Then he ran his fingers through her hair, making sure it was all neat and the flowery headband on top was in place. 

Aunt Gwen and Martha rushed in a moment later, adjusting their hair and smoothing down their bridesmaids dresses. Aunt Gwen rushed over to Braith, checking her over and finding nothing more to adjust on her after Gwil's doting. She whirled on Gwil next, sweeping him into a hug before kissing him on the cheek. Gwil waited patiently through her wiping the kiss off his cheek. He was almost as tall as her, now. He was already taller than Aunt Martha and Toshiko – when they weren't in heels. The day he had realized that had filled Gwil with an unexpected pride. The next person he had to pass in height was Aunt Gwen. After that it was Uncle Owen: Dad had joked they'd have a party the day that happened, while Tad had tutted disapprovingly and said something about Dad being mean.

“Sorry, sorry,” Aunt Gwen licked her thumb again and continued to wipe her lipstick off Gwil's cheek. He held still and let her. No point in squirming around – it'd just prolong the process. “Thank you so much for looking after Braith! Tosh just needed a final minute with the girls.”

“No problem.” Gwil shrugged. 

“You take such good care of her,” Aunt Gwen continued. “You take after your tad, you know.”

Gwil nodded. He knew. People had been telling him that his whole life since he fell through the Rift. He didn't mind it most of the time – he actually  _liked_ being compared to Tad, really. Gwil loved Tad, and he wanted to grow up to be like him. 

(But sometimes he wanted to be like Dad, too. He wouldn't mind going on a brand new adventure. Just a little one.)

The music changed, and Aunt Gwen was rushing to stand behind him and nudging Gwil and Braith forward. Gwil guided Braith unobtrusively from behind her, poking her every few steps so she'd remember to throw some petals on the ground. Inside, the wedding hall was filled with mostly people Gwil knew – all the Torchwood Aunts and Uncles, and his dads sitting on the left. As he passed them, Gwil saw Tad look him up and down, then look over Braith. Gwil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Didn't Tad trust him to handle not messing up a suit in the five minutes he'd been in the back, and making sure Braith didn't mess up her dress? He trusted him with the Archives, after all. 

Uncle Owen was already at the front of the room, with Uncle Rhys and Mickey standing next to him. There was a Japanese woman sitting on Aunt Tosh's side of the room, already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. That must be Aunt Tosh's mum – Tad had said she'd be there. There were a handful of other people speckled around the room: a man on Uncle Owen's side that Gwil didn't recognize, a man and woman couple on his side as well, set off in one corner. None of them looked old enough to be Uncle Owen's parents, which seemed odd. But maybe his parents were dead – Gwil had never heard Uncle Owen talk about them, so it made sense.

The music changed one last time, and Gwil obediently turned around with everyone else in the room to watch Aunt Tosh walk in.

Gwil smiled. She looked very pretty. Her dress was simple but nice, and she had a bouquet of some sort of pretty purple flowers in her hand, and the same flowers in her hair. She was smiling madly, and kept ducking her head down and forcing her expression to calm down. But then she'd look up again and start grinning from ear to ear. Gwil glanced back at where she was looking – Uncle Owen, of course – and saw that Uncle Owen was smiling back at her just as big. Gwil found himself smiling with them. He had never seen Uncle Owen look so happy. Not even after that time he made the rats change brilliant colors just from an alien injection.

The ceremony was pretty boring for the most part. Gwil mostly kept an eye on Braith, making sure she didn't act up throughout the ceremony. Aside from tugging at her dress more than Gwil wold have liked, she was fine.

Gwil had to wait to do his bit for the very end, when Uncle Owen turned to Gwil and asked for the rings. Obediently he tugged them out of his inside jacket pocket (his jacket had _inside pockets_. It took being named ring bearer to convince Tad that he needed a jacket with inside pockets ) and handed them over to Aunt Gwen and Uncle Rhys, who passed them on to Aunt Tosh and Uncle Owen.

The ceremony ended when Uncle Owen and Aunt Tosh kissed, everybody cheered, and Braith giggled and clapped along with everyone at the kiss. Aunt Tosh's mum and Aunt Tosh herself were crying. The new husband and wife went back down the aisle, and Gwil strolled over to his dads, who were looking a little teary-eyed themselves.

“-beautiful,” Tad was saying to Dad.

“Makes me want to do it all over again,” Dad said back. Then the looked at each other all gooey, even though Tad was trying to hide it behind a scoff. It didn't convince anyone, Gwil included.

“Hey,” Gwil cut in. He had to make sure he cut in a _lot_ with his dads, otherwise Gwil suspected they'd just kiss each other all the time and never stop. It was ridiculous. “Is it time for the cake, now?”

Dad laughed and ruffled Gwil's hair, which he squirmed away from. Pouting, Gwil reached his hands up to fix his hair. Dad was always  _doing_ that, like Gwil didn't spend ten minutes every morning getting his curls to calm down and settle the way he wanted them to. “Dinner first, then cake. You hungry?”

Gwil nodded. “Yeah.” Just for a moment he glanced over at Braith. She was in Aunt Gwen's arms, and appeared to be explaining in excruciating detail just how itchy her dress was and how her mam needed to take her out of it  _right now_ . Gwil hope Aunt Gwen listened. Otherwise he'd end up spending his whole dinner worried that Braith was going to spill something on her dress. 

**

It was late when the adults all waved Aunt Tosh and Uncle Owen off in their car. Dad and Tad had presented them with some sort of really special gift – something about a month long vacation, Japan, and lots of really fancy hotels. Gwil frowned after them. A month was a pretty long time. He hoped nothing really interesting happened at Torchwood between now and then. Especially nothing medically interesting: Aunt Martha just didn't show him the cool stuff like Uncle Owen did. 

Like those color-changing rats.  _That_ had been cool. Even if Gwil had accidently touched one and ended up having to wear gloves over his hand for the next week until it stopped changing colors itself.    
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a seven-year-old boy falls through the Rift, Ianto and Jack decide to adopt him. This is the story of his life at Torchwood. ****Thanks to an innocuous mishap, Gwil finds out Dad's not entirely human; Ianto decides to broach the subject of telling Gwil about Jack's immortality once more.

Owen's head was cocked to the side as he poked and prodded at Jack, then Gwil. He turned back to Jack: checking his pulse, injecting him with something, and scowling the whole time. Then he turned to Gwil and repeated the procedure. Ianto looked on all of this from his position on the observation level with a frown on his face.

Jack, of course, was laughing like none of it was a big deal, like his son's skin broke out in bright pink fur every day. Gwil was grinning with him, unbothered by his present condition. It was the sight of that easy smile that made Ianto worry even more than Jack's boisterous laughter.

“I've compared the DNA, and I'm tell you, Harkness: there is no difference between the two of you that should lead to _this_ kind of variable reactions.”

Jack shook his head. “It's different enough, trust me, Owen. Take another look, and if you can't handle it, call Martha in.” He nudged Gwil with his shoulder, who just rolled his eyes and waited patiently in his spot on the autopsy table. “We were definitely both exposed to it, so the fix has got to be in my DNA.”

Owen grumbled something about captains and their lack of medical knowledge before he gathered up a group of vials and stomped off. Ianto stayed where he was leaning on the railing, watching his husband and son marvel at Gwil's bright pink fur. Jack ran a hand down Gwil's arm, which made him shiver and pull away. “It's like there's  _nerves_ in it!” he was explaining. 

After a minute of oo-ing and ah-ing over Gwil's new look, the boy turned to Jack with a ponderous look on his face (from what expression Ianto could make out beneath the fur). “So why's your DNA so different? Just because you're from the future, or Boeshane?”

A rush of smug satisfaction bubbled up in Ianto's chest before he stifled it and turned his attention to Jack's somewhat panicked looks. Jack had been putting off these sorts of conversations for too long, in Ianto's opinion, so served him right that Gwil would bring it up just when they were having their father-son bonding time over their latest misadventure.

Gwil's eyes narrowed beneath his fur, intelligent blue eyes locking onto Jack's indecision immediately. “There's something else, isn't there?” he pressed. “Something to do with your DNA being different? What is it?”

Ianto gave Jack a look that said “Guess you've got to tell him now”. Jack scowled up at him from his seat on the autopsy table, but turned to Gwil with a resigned sigh. “Yeah, there is,” he started. “In the future humans kind of... mix and match. When we meet other alien species we have sex with them, so by the time the fifty-first century rolls around...” Jack held his hands out palms up in a little shrug.

Gwil's eyes widened, and a grin split the fur covering his face. “ _Cool_ ,” he breathed. “So you're part alien? What part?! Are you like, a lizard man? Do you have any different bits? You look human, so are all your different bits on the inside, or-” Gwil gasped, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Oh, no!” He looked up to Ianto, face screwed up. “It's not all freaky, is it? When you're having sex? It's not weird and alien, right?”

Jack's barking laugh certainly indicated that he had come to terms with having to reveal another one of his secrets to Gwil, while Ianto just flushed red and pressed his hands to his face. “No,” he finally grumbled, pressing his forearms to the railing as he leaned over it. “No, Gwil. I can assure you all Dad's bits – inside and out – appear one hundred percent human.”

“ _Gross_ ,” Gwil grumbled good-naturedly. “So then what's the difference?” He turned back to Jack. “If everything all looks human, how're you an alien?”

Jack gestured between the two of them, indicating Gwil's fur and his continued smooth skin. “Stuff like this. I might react differently to things than you original humans. There's also little tweeks: I'll never need eyeglasses, no heart disease, no diabetes, no cancer, no alzheimer or any of that. My endurance is a little better, and...” Jack trailed off, grinning as he glanced up at Ianto. Ianto flushed, but didn't interrupt. “And I smell better.”

“You smell better?” Gwil leaned close and sniffed Jack before pulling back and shrugging. “I don't smell anything. D'you mean you don't need deodorant ever or something?”

“That,” Jack agreed. “But it's more than that. To people like Tad, who are _interested_ in me,” he paused for a second, ostensibly to check and see if Gwil got his innuendo. Gwil immediately shuddered and waved his hands. Ianto sighed and wondered – not for the first time – if they were irreparably ruining Gwil's sex education. “I smell really good. Sexy, basically. It's these things called pheromones, which animals have in nature to help find mates. I've got them stronger than humans from the twentieth century,” he paused, ruffling Gwil's furry head, “or the nineteenth, for that matter. So that's another tweek.”

Gwil groaned. “So your alien powers are basically you're super healthy and sexy? That  _sucks_ .”

“Language,” Ianto corrected him immediately. Gwil rolled his eyes. 

Jack just laughed and ruffled Gwil's pink fur on top of his head again, grinning as the boy squirmed away. “It's worked out pretty well for me so far.”

**

Two hours later and Ianto was ushering a fur-free Gwil off to his room to work on his homework, and Jack was puttering around the kitchen looking for a late-night snack.

Ianto cornered Jack in the kitchen just as he was pulling a box of biscuits out of the back of the cabinet. “We need to talk.”

Jack seemed unconcerned as he popped a whole biscuit into his mouth. “Sho?” he asked around a mouthful of biscuit. “Tawk.”

Without even glancing over his shoulder to see if Gwil was eavesdropping – served Jack right if he was – Ianto placed his hands on his hips and leveled a disapproving stare at Jack. “Is this how it's going to be, then? Don't tell Gwil anything about you until it becomes inevitable? Are you going to wait until he watches you _die_ for you to tell him? Because I have a half-dozen men and women on the team who would agree with me that it's not the best way to find out.”

The box of biscuits slammed down onto the counter as Jack's face turned stony, all casual humor left over from their misadventure today gone in an instant. “It's  _my_ decision when I tell him.”

“He's _my_ son, too.”

Ianto stared at Jack across the expanse of their kitchen – barely a handful of feet, but the distance currently felt insurmountable. Jack took a step closer, lessening the distance but increasing his menace. “He doesn't need to know, yet.”

“So what, Jack? You going to let him watch you die? Let him jump in front of you to protect you from an alien's gun or a weevil's claws? Because he would do it, Jack. He's-” 

“He's what?!” Jack cut Ianto off, stepping forward again. “What? Stupid? Foolish? Reckless? Because you know damn well he's none-”

“He's too much like you!”

Jack froze. Ianto regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, but now they were out: floating in the air between the two men, impossible to ignore now. Jack's eyes were full of hurt and confusion. Instantly Ianto wanted to fix it.

“I didn't-” he took a breath, ruffling the back of his head. “I didn't mean it like that-”

Jack's tone was cold. “I know how you meant it.”

Ianto shifted awkwardly. He wanted to reach out to Jack, to reassure him, but he wasn't sure how to go about that. For how affectionate he and Jack were in the bedroom (and places beyond), outside of a sexual setting Ianto was uncertain how to connect physically to Jack. “He doesn't have your safety net,” he finally settled on whispering.

“He has you,” Jack replied back just as softly. When Ianto glanced into Jack's eyes, confused, Jack continued. “He's had you telling him all these years what's safe and what's not, how to do things right and wrong. He's had the best training of any Torchwood operative in the history of the organization, and he's not even in the field yet. When – if – he is, he'll be safe.”

“Not if you're injured.” Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Ianto cut him off with a curt head shake. “No, he would. He's like that. He made first contact with a new alien species when he was nine years old, just because we weren't there and his classmates needed him. When you or I have been injured, he's been ready to throw himself at us, headless of the danger that might be around him. He's going to be a big hero one day, just like his dad. And that's okay, it-” Ianto paused when Jack raised his eyebrows to his hairline, disbelieving. He snorted, caught out. “Maybe it's not _okay_. But it will be. One day. But until that day comes I don't want him to go rushing out to save you, just because he doesn't know.”

“When he finds out-” Jack started, fear in his eyes.

“He'll love you anyways.” Stepping closer, Ianto placed a tentative hand on Jack's arm. “He's loved you through everything else he's found out. But he needs to know this. _Soon_. Before he gets hurt, or worse, trying to save you.”

“He'll resent me,” Jack murmured. His eyes were distant, focused on something just past Ianto's right ear. “They always do.”

“I don't.” Jack's gaze returned back to Ianto, softening as he looked into Ianto's eyes. A small smile flitted across his face as he raised a hand to Ianto's cheek, stroking it with a look something akin to wonder in his eyes. “He won't.”

“Just a little while,” Jack breathed. Both men shifted until their foreheads were touching, eyes fluttering closed at the closeness. Ianto breathed Jack in, filling his other senses with all the warmth and love he felt for this impossible man. “He won't have to know until he's in the field. We can tell him then.”

Against his better judgement, Ianto felt himself folding, collapsing to Jack's sadness and longing for a normal family. Jack's head moved, leaning forward just the extra inches to press his lips to Ianto's, and then they were kissing. Ianto found himself pressed up against the fridge, drinking Jack's slow, long drag of lips and tongue against his own before he had even registered giving in.

“Ugk! Dad! Tad!”

The men broke apart, breathing heavily. Ianto blinked as he refocused on the world outside of Jack, eyes finally resting on Gwil standing in the kitchen entranceway. A pained look of disgust was written clearly on his features.

“In the _kitchen_?” he scolded. “I was going to get a snack!”

Reaching for Jack's abandoned box of biscuits, Ianto tossed it at Gwil. “I don't think our kissing has detracted from the sugar content of the biscuits,” he remarked dryly.

Jack laughed. Where he was still pressing Ianto to the fridge, Ianto could feel the laugh move from Jack into himself in a series of steady pulses. “Go do your homework!” Jack chided. “Tad and I need to celebrate the fact that we can see your skin again.”

Gwil turned on his heel, clutching the biscuits to his chest. As he stalked out of the kitchen, Ianto heard him mutter something about “-even _need_ a reason to-” before he disappeared around the corner. 

Turning back to Jack, Ianto shook his head before resting it on Jack's shoulder. “I'm not going to stop reminding you about it,” he cautioned. He felt Jack tense against him, but he didn't pull away. “You have to tell him eventually: and sooner rather than later.”

“Soon,” Jack promised, though Ianto didn't believe it for a second. “Before he's in the field. Before there's any trouble from it.”

Ianto hummed and let himself be drawn into a kiss. He knew it was pointless to try and convince Jack any more this evening. But he also knew Torchwood wasn't about to wait for Jack to screw up his courage before it threw something at them that would expose all their secrets. And knowing Torchwood, it'd be in the most disastrous way possible.    
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil decides it'd be totally cool to show off some Torchwood tech to his friends; Jack and Ianto are _not_ amused.

Gwil flicked his nail against the scarred place where his index finger used to be, scowling down at his hands. He wasn't about to look up at his headmistress, and he _definitely_ wasn't abut to look up at his dads. Even _Dad_ was mad at him, this time. That was a really, really bad sign.

It wasn't like he had done anything  _that_ bad. No worse than that time Tyler had exploded Lizzie's rucksack. Well... to his dads it was worse, because he had nicked something from the archives. But the headmistress didn't know that, and she was giving him a  _way_ worse punishment than she had  _Tyler_ !

“Five days really is the best I can do, Mr. Jones,” Ms. Fredricks was saying. “I cannot allow such behavior slide without a _severe_ punishment.” Although Gwil still refused to look up, he could feel Mrs. Fredricks peering over her glasses at him. “After blowing up a _school toilet_ , it's the least Gwil deserves.”

Dad cut in. “And we'll pay for a new one, of course.” His voice was in “charming” mode, as Tad put it. Gwil snuck a glance to Dad, expecting to see him smiling that gleaming white smile of his. He was surprised to see Dad looking very, very serious. Bugger. 

Tad spoke up next. “And we'll see to it that Gwil is punished at home, as well. Jack and I are going to have a long discussion with Gwil about how serious this was.”

Gwil scowled. He  _knew_ . He had taken something out of the archives, yeah: that was the number two worst thing he could do (just behind touching something unknown). But he had known what it did! And it had worked perfectly according to plan.

“ _What is it?” Mike asked, skepticism evident in his voice._

“ _Grenade,” Gwil replied, smug. When Tyler and Mike looked at him with wide eyes, Gwil smirked some more. This would show them. They thought Gwil didn't know anything about explosives or firearms, but Gwil did – he knew more than the both of them combined, probably. He just couldn't tell them_ how _he knew. But now he could do better than just tell them: he could_ show _them._

“ _It doesn't look like a grenade,” Tyler wondered. Gwil passed it along to him, where Tyler proceeded to turn it over and over again in his hands. He was right: it didn't look like a grenade. That was because it was a sonic grenade, technology courtesy the fifty-first century. It looked not much bigger than a postage stamp: about a half-centimeter thicker. But Gwil had read the archive reports – he knew how much power was contained within each tiny device._

“ _It's super advanced government tech,” Gwil explained. With a barely suppressed grin of satisfaction, he oh-so-casually explained: “Nicked it from my dads.”_

That _got Tyler and Mike's eyes to go wide. No one knew exactly what Gwil's dads did, but everyone knew it was something really, really cool – James Bond type stuff. Gwil himself did nothing to dissuade the rumors._

“ _How does it work?” Tyler asked, still turning the sonic grenade over in his fingers. “I don't see a fuse or trigger...”_

_Gwil held up his middle finger in the absence of his index finger. “It's a special sequence you tap into it. And I know it.”_

Gwil started guiltily as Tad's tone grew harsher. “We've had these talks before, haven't we, Gwil?”

His face burned in shame as Gwil refused to meet Tad's eyes. “Yes,” he mumbled, still not looking up. The _talks_ Tad was referring to were the _worst_ kinds of talks. They were the kinds of talks when both Tad _and_ Dad sat him down.

If it was just a talk with Tad, it was usually boring safety stuff. Gwil had grown up with those sorts of talks his whole (new)life, so he didn't mind them. And though he might not admit it, Tad's talks had saved his life bunches of times before. So he sat through them patiently and listened to everything Tad had to say.

If it was a talk with Dad, it was usually about some sort of big, but super-cool secret he had. Like when Dad told him about being from Boeshane, or the fifty-first century, or being just a little bit alien. Those talks were the absolute best, and not just because Dad would tell Gwil a whole new set of fantastical stories from out space: it was also because Tad usually listened in on them, with this soft little smile on his face. Like he was just as amazed as Gwil was with Dad's adventures. Gwil liked seeing his Tad like that (even if he'd never admit it, because more often than not Dad's talks led to his dads dragging each other off to their bedroom for the rest of the night, and showing up at breakfast looking exhausted and too pleased with themselves).

But these kinds of talks – the talks with both Tad _and_ Dad – these were the absolute worst. If they both had a talk with him, it was usually something scary, like the time the Doctor had tried to take him away, or the sex talk they had with him after Gwil had seen something he tried his best to forget at his current old age.

_Gross_ . Gwil had a feeling most parents had calmed down all that...  _stuff_ ... by the time they had kids Gwil's age. Why couldn't his dads be like that?

A moment later all thoughts of his dads' raunchy bedroom antics fled his head, as Gwil found himself being tugged up by Dad's strong hand wrapped tight around his arm. He didn't look up as Dad led him out the door, Tad walking swiftly in front of them.

**

The car ride back home was utterly, spine-chillingly silent. Dad didn't crack a grin once, and Tad didn't lovingly admonish him for saying something inappropriate. Gwil felt very, very small in the back seat of Tad's new Audi. He stared out the window and watched the sights of Cardiff flicker by. When Tad pulled up to their house, Gwil hopped out practically before the car had stopped moving, ignoring the looks he knew his dads were shooting him. Gwil loosened his tie as he stormed to the front door, tossing it open with little regard to it slamming into the doorstop. 

Dad's voice followed him quickly up the step. “Hey! You park yourself right at the kitchen table!”

Gwil obeyed, making sure his disagreement was written clear on his face. When Dad sat down across from him, he remained completely stony in the face of Gwil's displeasure. Gwil felt a small tremor of nerves at that: Dad was almost  _never_ the serious one.

On the other hand, it was no surprise that when Tad sat down, he was looking equally as displeased as Dad. For a long moment both parents sat, regarding Gwil cooly in the bright light of their kitchen. Gwil suddenly felt very, very small. It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time: borrow a little, tiny device from the archives, put some of his hard-earned knowledge to good use, impress his friends in the meantime. But now he felt how he figured a hostile alien felt under the dual gazes of his dads. It wasn't a good feeling. 

Dad broke the silence first, but it was only after a confirming glance from Tad. Gwil swallowed thickly. That meant Tad was calling the shots tonight, and that always spelt trouble. “In the interest of fairness, Tad and I'll let you try and explain yourself first.”

Gwil's eyes flickered to Tad's. Those steely blues didn't exactly look open to explanations, but Gwil figured it was worth a shot. He took a steadying breath, hands splayed out on the kitchen table to steady himself. “First: I  _know_ I'm not supposed to take stuff out of the archives.” Both Tad and Dad raised their eyebrows at this admission. “But I knew what it did!” Gwil continued, desperate. “I had read all the documents on it, and followed all the safety procedures when setting it off. I knew  _exactly_ what I was doing! And I didn't let anyone handle it but me, and it was just a  _toilet_ , not like we were throwing them at people-”

Tad's hands barely moved: all they did was come up from the arms of his chair to clasp lightly before him. Gwil thought maybe he saw his own death certificate written in that simple movement. “You followed procedure?” was what Tad said.

Gwil winced. “Yeah-”

“You followed procedure?” Tad repeated again.

“I set it off exactly right, and stood the recommended distance away-”

“ _Procedure_ ,” Tad said a final time, words like sharpened steel cutting through the air. Gwil physically flinched, noticing Dad do the same out of the corner of his eye. 

Gwil's eyes dropped to the tabletop, stinging just a little. “No,” he whispered. “No, because I brought it out of the Hub. And it was yellow, and I'm not supposed to touch anything yellow.”

Dad's voice was even scarier than Tad's – a feat Gwil had previously thought impossible. “And you didn't just touch it, did you? You snuck it out of the Hub, showed it off to your friends –  _civilians_ – and then blew up school property with it! You  _know_ why we have these rules. Do you need to hear the story about Suzie again? Or Alex? Or all the hundreds of other  _competent_ , highly-trained  _adults_ who have  _died_ because they thought they knew 'exactly what they were doing'?”

Gwil sniffed, shaking his head furiously as he stared down at the grains in the wood of the kitchen table. “No,” he whispered. He had heard those stories, time and time again. He had  _been_ one of those stories himself, more than once in his life. He just figured it was such a little thing, something so easy to impress Mike and Tyler with...

Tad's voice was eerily professional when he spoke next. “You're fired.” Gwil's head shot up, eyes searching for his Tad's and only finding coldness. His eyes watered, shock moving through his system. “All your security clearances are revoked, and you're not allowed to work anywhere at Torchwood anymore. You can reapply when you're sixteen, just like everyone else.”

Gwil's heart felt like it was going to stop. A deep, permeating sense of  _loss_ came over his entire being, shutting him down from the inside out.  _Fired_ ? Unable to work at Torchwood for another  _four years_ ? Tears fell from Gwil's eyes, hot and fat onto the tabletop.

Across the table, Dad turned into Tad, concern written across his features. “Ianto, don't you think that's a little-”

“Jack.”

Gwil sniffed, not looking up as his dads had a silent conversation. He couldn't be bothered.  _Fired_ . Gwil's hands flew up to his eyes, heels of his palms pressing in as tears squelched out between his skin.  _Fired_ . Now he wouldn't have the archives to look forward to after school; he wouldn't be able to run and get files for the Aunts or Uncles; he wouldn't be able to help Tad out, or prove to him how good he was, how great he could be at this one day. He just wanted to do his best: wanted to grow up and be like Tad and Dad, saving the world and making the archives into the gleaming city of history and memories it was today. He just... He just...

A sob wrenched its way from Gwil's throat as he let his head fall to the table, hidden in his arms. Arms wrapped around him a moment later, and Gwil barely had to sniff to know it was Dad. “Hang on there, little man. Hang on. Maybe we can work something out.”

Gwil shook his head, keeping it buried in his arms. “No!” he cried out. “I was  _stupid_ . Mike and Tyler just kept jabbering on about the explosives they'd made, and all the stuff they knew, and I  _knew_ I knew more about it than they did, but they wouldn't believe me, and I just wanted to prove them wrong  _so bad_ , and I was so  _stupid_ -” A hiccup interrupted Gwil's tear-filled rant, which dissolved into sobs once more after the interruption. 

His dads were silent for a minute longer as Gwil cried, Dad's arms wrapped securely around him. They made him feel better, but only a little, and not enough. Nothing  _should_ make him feel better: not after what he'd done.

“What about probation?” Dad finally said. He spoke slowly, as if testing out the sentence with Tad first. Gwil imagined he was doing exactly that. 

Gwil sniffed and glanced up from the safety of his arms. Tad still looked  _furious_ , but he was eyeing Dad like he might just agree with him. A flutter of hope dared arise in Gwil's chest. “Probation?”

Slowly Tad dragged his eyes away from Dad and focused them on Gwil, who shuddered under the force of that gaze. Tad raised a hand, and started ticking off items on his fingers. “No time alone in the archives for any reason. No going down there unless you're with me or your father: this means no Uncle Owen or Mickey.” Gwil nodded quickly, even though that stung. Uncle Owen and Mickey always showed him the coolest stuff. “Dad and I check you over  _every time_ you leave the archives for unapproved items. We find  _one_ on you,” Tad let the threat linger in the air.

Shrugging Dad's arms off his shoulders, Gwil practically broke his neck nodding so hard. “Okay! Okay! Yes! I promise I'll be good. Never again. I'm sorry.” Tears filled his eyes again. “I'm really, really sorry, Tad. I didn't mean for you to get so mad.”

Through a haze of tears Gwil thought he saw Tad's cold expression melt just a little bit, eyes turning just a bit softer. This only made Gwil cry more, and a moment later he found himself wrapped up in Tad's tight embrace.

“I just don't want you getting hurt,” Tad whispered into his ear. “Please, Gwil. I just want you safe. That's what all the rules are for: keeping you safe.”

Nodding into Tad's chest, Gwil's voice shook as he replied. “I know, Tad. I'm sorry. I'm really, really,  _really_ sorry.”

Tad's repeated _I know_ 's went on long enough that they were the last thing Gwil heard before he cried himself to sleep.   
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil's 13th birthday finds him abducted by aliens and in a holding cell with his Tad. But maybe some good can come of it.

Gwil was sat with his arms crossed in the far corner of the cell, looking rather disapprovingly up at his tad. The cell was a crude affair, but unfortunately effective in its design: smooth metal walls, a single locked door, and no way out that Ianto could sort. He paced across from end to end for what felt like the hundredth time, subconsciously counting the steps. Five. Same as every other time.

Wishing the aliens hadn't taken his watch – even though he didn't _really_ need it to keep track of time – Ianto made a conscious effort to quiet himself. He slowed his steps, finally forcing himself to sit next to Gwil against the far wall once his feet brought him that way. “It's probably too late, now.” Ianto mused. “Sorry you missed the boat ride for... this.”

Gwil sighed fairly good-naturedly, though a frown did tug at the corner of his lips. “'s'okay,” he mumbled. “Mike's dad always has weekends off, so I guess I can ask him to try again next weekend.” Throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling, Gwil huffed an exasperated breath. “Now I just gotta think of an excuse why I missed my own birthday party.”

Although Ianto was proud of Gwil for taking – yet another – alien abduction in stride, he felt a twinge of parental guilt over subjecting Gwil to such inconveniences. If he or Jack worked a Monday through Friday job, like Mike's dad did, Gwil wouldn't have to be used to making up excuses as to his whereabouts when he missed birthday parties. Instead of apologizing again, Ianto thought. “Car trouble,” he suggested, nudging his shoulder into Gwil's. “I can give Mr. Teven a call when we get out of here, tell him the car broke down on the way to the dock.”

“Yeah, but then why didn't I call them?” Gwil prodded. He held up his hand in imitation of a phone and waggled it significantly. “All three of us have mobiles: dontch'ya think _one_ of us would have called him, let him know we broke down?”

Resting his forearms on his knees, Ianto thought for a moment. “No signal. Dad and I took you out to breakfast in the Beacons and the service dropped out.”

Gwil snorted. “Service doesn't just drop out anymore. No one's going to believe that.”

With a small shudder Ianto thought back to his last experience with the Beacons. “You'd be surprised.”

Father and son lapsed into silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of engines somewhere deeper into the ship. Disinterestedly Ianto poked at the floor, just to make sure it wasn't organic in some way. It didn't feel it. Ianto returned his hands to his knees, letting his head fall back against the metal wall. Next to him, Gwil was fiddling with the aglet on his shoelace. 

“What d'you reckon's taking Dad so long?” Gwil finally said into the silence.

Ianto shrugged. “Negotiating with the aliens, blowing up the aliens, shagging the aliens...” he ticked off all the possibilities on his fingers. Gwil's nose scrunched up at the last, causing Ianto's lips to twitch up into a smirk. “Dad might lump that under 'negotiating', though, knowing him.”

Gwil rolled his eyes. “Dad and Uncle Owen and Mickey are always  _saying_ stuff like that, but I've never seen Dad ever actually  _do_ anything.”

Ianto quirked an eyebrow. “Well I should hope you've never seen Dad engage in 'horizontal diplomacy', as he likes to call it.”

Gwil's face turned red and he snatched a fist out, hitting Ianto in the arm. Ianto resisted the urge to rub the spot – Gwil was getting more muscular than he realized with every passing day. “ _Tad_ !” he groaned. “You know what I  _meant_ ! He acts all Captain Kirk all the time, all flirting and smiling at everyone, but I've never even seen him kiss anyone besides you. Well,” Gwil amended this. “Really kiss. You know what I mean: not just on the cheek.”

Ianto tried and failed to hide a smile. “I suppose I've ruined his reputation as a playboy, haven't I?” he mused.

Gwil snorted, almost managing to sound derisive (though Ianto personally didn't think he could pull it off quite yet). “If he ever even  _was_ one. When I try and picture all the stories Uncle Mickey tells me, from before Dad was at Torchwood, I can't ever imagine him with anyone else. Especially not loving someone else like he loves you.” When Ianto stayed silent for a beat too long, Gwil's face flushed bright red and he turned away, staring at some spot down in the corner of the cell. “You know. Er... whatever.”

Ianto laughed. Reaching over, he smoothed a hand down the back of Gwil's neck – he hated it when Jack messed up his hair, and Ianto was trying to be somewhat considerate. “I know,” he agreed, attempting to quell Gwil's embarrassment with steady strokes of his hand. “But Dad  _did_ have a life before he met me,” he reminded Gwil, trying hard not to think to himself  _And he'll have a life after me, too_ . 

“When can I get off probation?” Ianto didn't miss the fumbled change in subject, but he didn't point it out. Gwil's new topic of conversation was far more interesting – and far less heartbreaking – as it was.

“It's barely been three months,” Ianto said dryly. He still was feeling quite not-amused by Gwil's little prank, even if Jack had come to see the humor in it over the past few months. 

Gwil fiddled with his shoelace in contemplative silence. “What if I did something? Something to get off probation early?”

Suspicious, Ianto turned to Gwil. “Like what?” he pressed. Gwil was fidgeting more, shoelace rolling between his fingerpads at an almost ferocious speed.

After a moment of silence, Gwil tugged on his shoelace, undoing his shoe with dexterous fingers. Ianto watched the procedure and waited. A moment later Gwil was sliding off his trainer and shaking it. Something dropped onto the metal floor of their cell, clatter loudly in the quiet.

Ianto snatched the item up, turning it over in his hands. “A laser screwdriver?” He turned to Gwil, mouth agape. “You've had this the whole time and didn't say anything?!”

“Am I off probation then?”

Ianto didn't know if he should hit Gwil or hug him, so he opted for doing neither and instead stood up, striding over to the door on the far side of the cell. “Did you take this out of the archives without permission, too? Because that seems to me to be an odd way to try and get off a probation that you're on because you _took alien tech out of the archives without permission_.”

“No!” Behind Ianto, there was the sounds of Gwil scampering to his feet and racing across the cell to his side. “No! Dad slipped it to me, just as the aliens were snatching us up! I put it in my shoe to hide it from the aliens.”

Bending over – and cursing his aching back in the process – Ianto peered into something that appeared to be a keyhole equivalent. It was a wriggly, membrane sort of slot on the door. Seeing as it was the only thing on the door that wasn't a solid sheet of metal, Ianto figured he'd give it a go. He turned the laser screwdriver settings to what he understood was the fifty-first century equivalent of lock pick and aimed it at the membrane. “Get behind me,” he gestured to Gwil, who obeyed without question.

A short burst fired from the laser, lighting up the membrane in a rainbow of colors, like light waves split through a prism. For a second there was nothing, then the membrane turned black and the door creaked open. Ianto breathed a sigh of relief. 

Before peering through the door, he turned to Gwil, voice low. “Giving me this might have been appreciated  _earlier_ ,” he grumbled.

Gwil splayed his hands out in front of him in supplication. “Dad told me to wait a bit! He said not to use it unless he was gone a long time!”

Ianto turned his wrist to look at his watch before he remembered the aliens had taken it from him. Bugger. Even without the timepiece, Ianto knew it had been over an hour since they had been thrown into the cell and Jack had been taken to some other part of the ship. And the longer Jack spent with a seemingly-hostile alien race, the higher the chances of them finding out Jack's secret. No: they had given Jack ample time to sort things himself. Now it was Ianto and Gwil's turn.

“Alright.” Holding fast to the laser screwdriver in his right hand, Ianto stuck out his left for Gwil. “Let's go save Dad. And after, we can stop and get an ice cream cake on the way home to make up for you missing your birthday boat ride.”

Gwil took his hand, big grin on his face. “It's alright. Now I'll get to tease Dad about getting abducted and us having to rescue him. That's not a bad birthday.” Ianto sighed as he tugged Gwil out of the cell and they started to creep their way along the corridors.  _Not a bad birthday_ . For Torchwood, maybe not.    
  
  
  



End file.
